death incarnate & night triumphant
How he hated the term 'Your Majesty'. His father having been old fashioned and furious when he was not addressed properly. Then again... it was another time, another world when his father ruled. Andras was perhaps not terribly informal with the local lords of Somnia, though he had no doubt his power and rule was accepted within the hidden country, he didn't need fancy titles, nor to rage at someone into submission. He did perhaps, put on an air of cruelty when dealing with... certain Fae Folk, the cruelty that rumors flitted about the city of Sacrosanct. Yes, it was intentionally. The first defense of keeping Somnia safe. His people and his home were less likely to be threatened if their ruler was thought to be a cruel and heartless bastard.
To the Fae of Sacrosanct, the ones who did not join him, he was indeed the cruel Monarch, Andras hardly ever allowing the mask of delighted cruelty to ever slip from his face in the city. So, when Samantha Cassidy approached him of all people, he was, perhaps, a little intrigued, at least until she dropped the name of his home from her lips. It was in that moment, Andras had donned that Monarch composure, his centuries old gaze falling heavily on the woman. He had attained an arrogance, only someone who had lived as long as he, that practically bled from his aura, it was one of the only good things his father had taught him, how to make the savageness and brutality ooze from him.
His dark gaze lingers on the woman, his hands casually sliding into his pockets as amusement alights in his eyes, and it does exactly what he wants. The flash of anger that crosses the former Queen's face is refreshing, she at least still held some form of regret that she was no longer a Monarch within the city. Andras almost expects the woman to lash out, perhaps not with her powers, she would be a fool to attack someone who had centuries of experience on her, but with words. She seems to hold her tongue and Andras is mildly impressed that she could hold back from the pride that was surely warring within her. Still, he waits for her words and when she successfully shoves the irritation back down from once it came does she speak, Andras's heavy gaze watching her, his dark eyes noting every movement, every breath she takes.
Her lilt of words reach his delicately pointed ears as he listens to her, that mask unwavering as the simper remains. Just Sam, she says. Hmm. The crossing of her arms against her chest is noted, perhaps the first sign of... being uncomfortable? A sign he would tuck away to bring up later if needed. She addresses him with proper etiquette, assuming his rule over the city and though he was, in fact, a ruler - he did not rule Sacrosanct nor was that ever his goal. He had his home and built a presence within the city but he would never call himself a king here. Nor would he ever want to - there were far too many rulers within this very city that thought themselves the proper kings and queens of the city. Yet, it was something Samantha didn't need to know, something he hardly corrected her on.
So, rather than answering her, he simply tilts his head in that alarming predatory way of his, his dark hazel gaze watching her all the way up to the moment he moves forward. Picking at that invisible speck of dust, his simper fading away only to be replaced with a vicious seriousness. Ah, how would she handle it? Andras watches her, the way she stiffens ever so slightly at his approach. So, she wasn't immune to his presence, or at the very least, she was understanding just how very ancient he was. She almost looked like a deer caught in the headlights as his dark simper returns, the man leaning back and out of her personal space for the moment as she seems to scramble for her words. Though she doesn't fumble her speech, he can see the way she wracks her brain, trying to figure out how her words were a threat. Well, at least he knew for certain she wasn't a threat. "Darling, starting a conversation off with, 'I know about Somnia,' is very much a threat if I ever heard one. Let's say the roles were reversed and it was I who sought you out, it would very much sound like a threat, now wouldn't it?" He tuts at her, his deep baritones a gathering darkness.
He's aware of the softness that enters her voice and it became immediately clear to the male, even without having to dive into her mind, that she truly wasn't a threat. She maybe went about her approach all wrong and yet, it was a good lesson to be had he supposed. He ignores the formal apology, only for her to admit the pregnancy that he had known about the moment she announced herself. It wasn't that he could hear the infants heartbeat, the child was much too young for that but it was her scent that had given her away. He had lived a long life, it was easy for the man to pick out the similarities between Samantha and other pregnant Fae he had known. She, however, didn't seem to know that. She was young by human standard and even younger by Fae standards, of course she wouldn't know.
A knowing smile tugs at his lips then, he would have been true to his word and refused to help the woman if she hadn't been honest about her visit but alas, she was a smart girl. Removing his hands from his pockets, he pauses, listening to her lingering question as he allows the edge of his cruelty to wash away from his mask. Though, he is far from trusting her, Andras at least knew she wasn't a threat, at least not at the moment. Stepping around her, he opens the gate to the sidewalk and gestures with his hand for Sam to move back onto the public sidewalk, "Come along, there's a tea shop just around the corner. We can chat there," he says, his hazel eyes still watching carefully, though the darkness has faded slightly. He waits for her to move back out before he takes up a leisurely stroll, hardly waiting for the former Queen to catch up.
"You do realize our conversation would have gone much differently if you had simply asked for help in the beginning," he states, his gaze turning towards her as he moves down the pavement, that notorious simper of his remaining, tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now, let me make one thing very clear, Samantha, your pregnancy is not a condition," he says after a moment, a seriousness entering his voice, "Nor is it an illness, I can see the uncertainty in your eyes and as good as you are at hiding it, I can also see the fear lingering in you," he states after a moment, "We can have a conversation about your pregnancy when I feel like you're ready for it," he states just as they reach the doors of the promised tea shop. Opening the door, he allows Sam to enter first before finding a vacant table and sliding into it. "Why don't we build a little trust before we launch into some heavier topics, hmm? I'll start, you can call me Andras, just Andras," his simper returns with his accented words as he parrots her words back to her.
Andras Steinhello darling